


Davey's Bedtime Stories

by SnarkyBubble



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: 1890s, Babysitting, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Next Generation, Post-Movie(s), Uncledavey, daddydavey, daddyjack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-05-14 17:13:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5751487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnarkyBubble/pseuds/SnarkyBubble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Daddy works late, Rebecca’s Uncle Davey tells some pretty interesting bedtime stories. (Begins in the world of Jack/Sarah, but eventually Javid, because it's practically canon anyway. Wink)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ConfessionsOfAGeekyFangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConfessionsOfAGeekyFangirl/gifts).



Rebecca's hair was brushed, her pajamas were on, her pillow was fluffed. All that was left was--

“Okay, Uncle Davey. I'm ready for my story!” Rebecca's wide brown eyes stared up expectantly at him as he finished tucking the blanket around her slight shoulders.

David’s eyebrows wrinkled with perplexion, as he sat down on the bed next to her. “Story?” The whole evening had been rather perplexing, if he was to be honest. He had never taken care of a child before. But Rebecca had been well-behaved and helpful. And perhaps a little bossy. She was her mother’s daughter, through and through. Davey felt pins prick his eyes and he pushed that thought aside.

“Yes, Daddy always tells me a story before bed! And daddy's not here. So you have to tell me a story.” Five year old logic. Ensnares even the wisest of men, David thought.

“Okay. A bedtime story, huh? Well… Did you hear the story about the lady with the glass slipper?”

Rebecca narrowed her eyes as if trying to remember. “I think so...Is that the one where the kind old Lodging House master helps the little girl bet on the winning racehorse and she wins and gets to go the ball?”

David's eyes widen slightly, but who is he to contradict Daddy's story? “Okaaay… Well have you heard the story of the three little pigs?”

She nodded. “One built his house out of matchsticks, the second built his house out of old rags and the third built his house out of newspapers, and that was the strongest one because you can't knock down The World.”

David had to give credit to Jack. His stories were very imaginative. He was handling this single father stuff better than Davey had imagined. It had only been a month! He pushed that thought away, like the other, choosing not to dwell on the pain.

“Okay, then. Little Red Ridinghood? Snow White? Rapunzel?”

“Heard them all!” she announced. “Can't you tell me a NEW one?” Rebecca gave him a testy look. “Or don't you know any?”

Leave it to Jack’s kid to get under David's skin like that. “As a matter of fact, I DO know some new stories. How about a story about your dad?”

Rebecca crossed her arms in front of her chest with a satisfied look in her eyes. David had seen that same glimmer in her dad’s eyes so many times. When they were kids and the headlines were good, to recent times when Jack received his most recent raise at work. But not since… David cleared his throat, choosing to feel a little pride at making that glimmer appear in these big brown eyes in front of him, so like her dad’s. She acted like her mother, but looked like her father. David would work hard to make the story good, for her little sake.

“Alright, well. Once there was this place called The Refuge. It was sort of like a jail for kids. One time, your dad was starving, so he stole some food--”

“Oh, right, food.” Rebecca interjected, but David gave her a look.

“So anyway, Jack, I mean, your dad--”

“I know Jack is my dad’s name. You don't have to say that.”

“Can I tell this story, or do you want to tell it?” Rebecca smiled sweetly at David and she stopped talking. “Thank you! So as I was saying, your dad was hungry, so he stole some food. And he got put into that jail for kids.”

Rebecca looked stunned. But she didn't say anything, probably because she wanted to hear more.

“That place was terrible at taking care of the kids. It was cold, it was over-crowded, they had no medicine--”

“Lucky! I hate medicine.”

“Only because you can have it. You'd hate being sick even more,” David insisted. He felt a flash of weakness as his memories flared up. Medicine doesn't always help. He swallowed, changing the subject. “But that wasn't the worst of it. There wasn't enough food. And in The Refuge, if kids weren't listening, the Warden would--would hit them.” He almost regretted telling Rebecca that last part, judging by the scandalized look on her face, but he didn't believe in sugar-coating things. And he knew her dad didn't believe in sugar-coating things either.

“That's terrible,” she whispered. David tried to comfort her, brushing her hair back from her face. She clung to his arm, so he left his hand resting there on her cheek. “Did they hit my daddy?”

“He probably got hit the most. Because anytime a younger kid was about to be hit, Jack would get in the way, and he'd get hit instead.”

Rebecca's eyes widened, and she said quietly, “He was a hero.” David nodded, suddenly feeling proud to know such a hero.

“You're right, he was. No, he IS.” David's eyes crinkled with a smile. “Your daddy is such a hero.”

They smiled at each other for a moment, thinking about the greatness of their favorite man.

“But what happened next? Daddy's not still in jail.”

“You're right. He got out. The first time he got out--”

“Wait! Daddy was in jail more than once? Why was he in jail a second time? Did he steal food again?”

“That second time will have to be told another night.” David gave her a firm look and she shrunk into the pillow, finally ready to say no more. “This first time he got out, it was because Theodore Roosevelt was visiting The Refuge.” Before she could interrupt, David said, “yes, Theodore Roosevelt, the President. But at the time, he was the Governor.” Rebecca didn't say anything, obviously getting sleepy. “And while Teddy Roosevelt was there, Jack snuck out and hid on the governor’s coach! After the coach traveled few blocks, Jack slipped off and he was free.”

Rebecca smiled at the happy end, her eyes closing, then opening again, as she fought back her sleep, quietly listening. “But ever since that first time in the refuge, your dad was a hero. He had learned how great it felt to help little kids--not just when he protected them from being hit, but even when he would help the little ones who were too sick to go to dinner, by bringing back extra bread for them. Or by telling them stories to keep them cheered up.”

Her eyes slowly closed and stayed closed as David finished the last bit of story. “That's where Jack learned to be a hero, and he hasn't stopped being a hero since…”

David heard a rustling behind him, and a moment later a second body sat down on the bed next to David, resting an arm casually around his shoulders. “A hero, huh?”

David stiffened at Jack’s arm but attempted to ignore it. He turned and gave Jack a look. The same look he had given his daughter with all her interrupting. “The biggest hero I know,” Davey said. “With the biggest head.” He shook off Jack's arm and slipped out of Rebecca’s room. Letting the father and daughter have a moment, David sat at the small kitchen table and waited.

Jack came out a moment later, closing the door quietly behind him. “Out like a light. Good job, Uncle Davey. And thanks.” Jack sighed with obvious relief.

David smiled in spite of himself. “Hey, you're welcome. Anytime.” His eyes swept over Jack’s face, noticing the care-worn wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. It was as though his face had forgotten how to smile completely. After a few beats of hesitation, Davey said in a quieter voice, “how are you doing?”

Jack nodded his head silently, settling into the chair across from David. “I'm…. We're…” He stopped talking and Davey averted his eyes. He didn't want to see his best friend cry. But he wasn't about to ignore him. Davey reached a hand across the table to grasp Jack’s hand. Jack squeezed his hand as they shared in their misery. A brother misses a sister just as much as a husband misses a wife.

 


	2. Tell Me Another

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Davey tells Rebecca another story about her dad, but this time Jack gets to hear it too.

About a week later, David was there at the Kelly home for dinner. Mashed potatoes, chicken, roast carrots...David was stuffed as he pushed his plate back after his second heaping servings were gone. 

“Jack, you're an incredible cook,” he said, setting his napkin on the table. “I don't even eat that well at home.”

Jack said, “I don't know, Dave. Your mom is quite a cook.” But despite his modest words, Jack looked pleased. Jack started clearing the table of its empty dishes, but David jumped up.

“I'll do that. You get Rebecca ready for bed,” David protested, taking the dishes from Jack’s hands. 

“No, Uncle Davey! I want you to get me ready for bed.” 

David looked at Rebecca, startled, then looked at Jack. Jacked beamed at David. “She hasn't stopped talking about your bedtime story since you were here last week.” 

David ruffled his curls subconsciously, almost shyly. “Well, alright. Go get dressed, then I'll be in in a minute.” 

Rebecca turned around and ran into the little bedroom she shared with her dad, taking the extra oil lamp with her. David turned back to see Jack packaging some leftovers for Rebecca to take with her to school tomorrow. He hummed to himself while wrapping bread in a worn, white cloth, adding it and an apple to a tin box. 

“You're doing well, Jack,” David commented, gesturing at the good food and the door Rebecca had just disappeared through. He took a wet rag and starting wiping down the dirty dishes. With a light voice, David added, “Mama wants to know when you and Rebecca are going to move home.”

Behind David, Jack stopped his lunch packing. “Home? This IS our home. Besides, you just said we were doing well!” 

David faced Jack, clutching his rag in his hand. “But surely, you think it would be easier with help…?” 

“I have help. Esther is here several times a week in the afternoons to help with laundry and to care for Becky.” He narrowed his eyes. “Is it becoming too much for your ma? I don't want her to be put out. I can manage.”

David shook his head quickly. “No, she doesn't mind. She's just worried about you two.”

Shaking his head, Jack went back to finishing up the lunch and started wiping down the counters, before putting a kettle of water on the stove. He wasn't in a rush to speak, and David left him to his thoughts. 

“We are fine,” Jack finally said. “I'm used to this. I've spent so long caring for Becky on my own as it is. That whole time Sarah was sick--” David's eyes flickered toward the doorway to see Rebecca standing there in her nightgown. Jack's words and tone changed in an instant. “Come here, Sunshine.” He started unbraiding her dirty blond hair while David quietly turned back to the sink and finished up the dishes.

“Are we moving to Bubbe and Zayde’s home?” Rebecca asked pointedly, breaking the silence. 

“No.” Jack turned her around and, holding her shoulders in his hands, he looked at her. “Are you ready for a story?” 

Her deep brown eyes looked at him and she smiled. “Yes. Good night, daddy.” She kissed his cheek, then reached for her Uncle David’s hand. 

“Good night, Sunshine. Dave, I'll have tea waiting for you.” David smiled weakly at Jack, and Jack gave him a half-smile back. Maybe their previous conversation would get picked up again. Or maybe not. 

David followed Rebecca into the room, and tucked her in, as he did last week. “What'll it be tonight? The City Mouse and the Country Mouse?”

She shook her head, her hair spread out across the pillow. “No. I want to know about daddy going to jail the second time.”

David whistled, surprised at her suggestion. “But why don't you ask your dad to tell you the story?”

“I did. But his stories aren't REAL. He told me about this Giant that was cheating him out of his money and how he and this Giant Slayer went up against the Giant, but then the Bulls captured him. So the Giant cut an evil deal with daddy to get him out of jail, but daddy had to work for the Giant.”

David chuckled under his breath. “Well, that's sort of how it went, to be honest. Plus, your daddy's stories are entertaining. You have to give them that.” Rebecca looked at David expectantly. So he said, “How about, instead of the story about the second time your daddy was in jail, I tell you about the second time your daddy rode in Theodore Roosevelt’s carriage?”

She grinned. “Alright.”

David made a show of tucking her in, now that the story was settled on. 

“Your dad--and his Giant-Slayer friend--had slayed the giant. The working boys and girls of New York had been given a voice, for at least that day.” 

She yawned while he spoke, and he could take a hint. “You've already heard that story, so I won't go into details. But the important thing was that it was all over and done with, and to thank your dad for his hard work, Theodore Roosevelt offered to give your dad a ride. A ride to anywhere he wanted to go.”

David’s voice was calm at first, but he couldn't help but remember in the pit of his stomach, that dark moment when he saw across the screaming, cheering crowd, his best friend ride off in the carriage. Without having said goodbye, even. “Do you know where he wanted to go?” There was a little crack in his voice at the end of his question, and he cleared his voice. Rebecca shook her head solemnly. 

“Close your eyes...Come with me, Where it's clean and green and pretty,” David sang softly to her. Her deep brown eyes looked up at him with such intensity, that he self-consciously straightened her blanket, dropping his eyes from hers. “And they went and made a city outta clay. Why, the minute that you get there, Folks will walk right up and say, ‘Welcome home, child, welcome home to Santa Fe!’”

Rebecca reached out for his hand, and he looked back at her, eyes shining, and continued speaking his story. “Your daddy is a man of dreams, Rebecca. And Teddy Roosevelt offered to make those dreams come true, by driving him down to the trainyard.”

He started singing again, “Planting crops, Splitting rails, Swapping tales around the fire, 'cept for Sunday when you lie around all day. Soon your friends are more like family, and they’re begging you to stay!” His voice cracked again and he stopped singing, clearing his throat. 

“But daddy didn't go to Santa Fe,” Rebecca said wisely. David nodded in agreement. 

“You're right. Because though he's a dreamer, he realized his dream was still right here in New York. Your --your mama. And eventually, you.” He smiled at her, tapping her little nose. His blue eyes were shiny with emotion. She beamed up at him. 

“Sing to me some more, Uncle Davey. I love your voice.” With a blush, Davey continued his song, and Rebecca drifted off into a peaceful sleep. He sat next to her for a few more minutes, then he felt the presence of Jack enter the room behind him. 

“Tea, Dave?” Jack asked in a hushed voice, holding a white mug out. 

David stood up before Jack would have a chance to sit on the bed next to him, and he reached for the cup. Jack's warm hands brushed David's as he handed over the cup, and Davey glanced at Jack’s face, but there was no indication that Jack had noticed. Jack was staring down at his daughter, love glowing in his face. 

“She is a dream come true, isn't she, Jack?” Jack picked up the oil lamp with one hand, and then put a hand on David's shoulder, leading him out of the dark room. David let himself get steered into the room, but then settled himself at the kitchen table with the mug of tea, where another mug was sitting waiting for Jack. 

“You're wrong, Davey,” Jack said quietly, as he sat down across from David. David looked at him, puzzled. 

“About what?”

“About a lot of things… About my dreams… About why I stayed. About me doing well.” Jack nursed his cup of tea, not meeting David’s eyes. David waited to see if Jack would elaborate, and he finally did. “But you're not wrong about Becky. She surely is a dream come true.”

David nodded seriously. “...For both of us.” 

Jack looked pleased, and gave Davey another half smile. “Makes it all worthwhile, when you've got someone to share it with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, jack doesn't admit this to Davey, but he didn't really cook that amazing meal. It was take out from Tibbys. XD


	3. Tell Me About Grandma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With daddy out again, Davey is asked to tell a story about Rebecca's paternal grandmother.

Chapter Three: Tell me about Grandma

 

A few weeks later, David was putting Rebecca to bed again, Daddy working late at the office. While he brushed her long, dirty blonde hair, she said, “Uncle Davey, tell me a story about Grandma.”

“Your Savta Jacobs? She's always telling you stories about herself! The only reason she isn't here now--”

“No, not that grandma. My other grandma,” she interrupted. David paused in his brushing for a moment. “You mean your Grandma Sullivan?” David had never heard Jack mention his mom around Rebecca. “I never met her.”

“But you must know stories about her! You know stories about Daddy before you met him.”

David started brushing her hair again, impressed with her sense. “Well, that's true."

David put the brush down on the nightstand Rebecca settled down into the blankets. “...Your Grandma Sullivan...” He tucked a blanket tightly around her shoulders as he repeated her name, buying time as he tried to think of a story. Jack had said so few words about her, and what David knew of her story was sad.

“Your Grandma Sullivan was a dreamer. Just like your old man. She… Well, remember the story about your daddy and Santa Fe?”

A patronizing look flashed across her little face, but she put it in check, perhaps because David seemed so unsure of himself. Instead, she reached a little hand out to his hand and grasped it in her own, but didn't say anything.

“Well, your daddy had dreamed of Santa Fe for so long. He mentioned his dream to me and your uncle Les the first day we met your daddy, and later, he mentioned it to your- your mama. He dreamed of the big sky and the sun--”

“It's the same sun as here,” Rebecca reminded him. David looked fondly down at her face, and nodded.

“That it is. So true.” She squeezed his hand.

“But you were telling me about Grandma Sullivan,” she reminded him.

“That's right. I was.” He took a deep breath and exhaled, her hand still in his.

“Well, Grandma Sullivan was born out west. Not as far as Santa Fe, mind you, but out of the city, anyway.”

David searched his memories for clues Jack might have dropped here and there about his mother. There weren't many--and most of them were sad and involved brutality from Jack’s father. David involuntarily shuddered and Becky squeezed his hand again, this time comfortingly, but didn't say anything. Tears pricked David's eyes for a fleeting moment as she brought to his mind his sister. His sister who knew so much more than she was told and cared so deeply for others.

David swallowed, and put on a smile. “They had chickens, Becky. Her family had eggs every morning for breakfast.”

“So they were rich!” 

David chuckled. “Living in the country, people do seem richer than us in some ways. Chickens are one of those ways. And her mom, your great grandma, loved to make lace. She was quite well-known for it.”

“Like Mama.” Her voice was getting that sleepy tone that David was starting to know.

“Like your beautiful mama,” he confirmed. “And someday, like you. Your Savta Jacobs will teach you.”

Rebecca's eyes were starting to close, so David went back to a comforting story about her grandma. “Grandma Sullivan dreamed about returning to the country someday… About leaving New York City. And she wanted to take her little baby boy with her. Your daddy. She dreamed of sharing with him the sky, the sun, and the fresh air. She spent your daddy's whole life dreaming that dream.”

He stopped talking and just watched her sleepy face. Her eyelids flickered so he started speaking again, even softer this time. “Her baby boy made dreaming worthwhile to her, just like you made dreaming worthwhile to your mama. Because dreams are not fruitless if they are for someone you love.”

She was asleep, but he kept talking. “Even if people are gone before their dreams come true.”

He exhaled slowly, then put his face into his hands, willing himself to put down his sadness as he stood up and left the room. He brought the lamp with him into the main room of the little apartment. Sarah and her stupid lace doilies. If he derided her hobby, he wouldn't have to think about her dream of entering her tablecloth in the county fair. Her dream that was interrupted by her year-long illness that she never recovered from. Except now he was thinking of her dream, and why was the basket still sitting there in the room here? How had he never noticed that it sat next to her chair, as if waiting for her to sit down and work on it?

With Jack still out, David felt a surge of bravado. He always tried to ignore this corner of the room, but not this time. David crossed the small room to Sarah's worn rocking chair and sat down. He found his hands in her lace basket, felt the cool white threads, tried to see the intricate pattern of knots and weaves through his tears. His sister, who had such dreams of not just being a mother, but of winning a Best of Show ribbon at the fair for this beautiful, unfinished piece of art. It was so unfair that she was gone too early.

It was there Jack found David when he got home about an hour later. Aching from a hard day’s work, he had entered the room quietly but was given a start when he found that David was there in Sarah’s chair, her lace halfway out of the basket, tangled in his hands and on his lap. Jack swallowed and carefully took the lace from David’s hands and put it back into the basket. David still asleep, Jack took the blanket off his own bed and wrapped it around David, tucking it in around David. Jack paused for a moment, looking down at the curly-haired man. So unlike his sister in features when awake. But asleep...Maybe it was his eyelashes. Or the way David’s lips were parted slightly.

Jack found himself brushing a kiss across David's forehead, then with a shake of his head (why had he done that?) he headed to his room. But not without sneaking another glance at Davey before entering his room. 

That was the first time David slept over at Jack’s place. But not the last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just just saw the national tour of Newsies again last night and I felt inspired to write more. Reviews inspire me!

**Author's Note:**

> Not many people are writing Newsies fics right now but this fandom is near and dear to my heart. I've still got a couple of ideas for this fic up my sleeve.


End file.
